Gravel in Your Gut and Spit in Your Eye
by TolkienScholar
Summary: Oneshot. On a boring day at the beginning of summer, Curly Shepard and Ponyboy Curtis try to find something to do without getting into trouble. Not surprisingly, they don't have much success. However, the experience does teach Curly something about his brother Tim that he never would have expected. Pre-Book.


**Disclaimer: **_**The Outsiders**_** is the property of S. E. Hinton. No copyright infringement is intended. The title is a paraphrase from the song "A Boy Named Sue," written by Shel Silverstein and sung by Johnny Cash.**

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**MC4A Fill Number:** BAON; TOS; NC; LL; SoC; FF; Fence; RoB; Rum; Cluster; VV; MT; TY; SN; O3; SHoE; WinBingo; Swap; Share; DP  
**Individual Challenges:** Long Haul (N); Hitter MC (N); Summer Vacation (Y); Tissue Warning (N); No Proof (N); Times Go On (N); New Fandom Smell (N); Location, Location, Location (N); Themes & Things A—Family (N); Themes & Things B—Jealousy (N); Themes & Things C—Deck of Cards (N); Themes & Things F—Growth (N); Furnish That Flat (Dominoes 1; N); Booger Breath (N); Team Player (N); Advice from the Mug (N); Two Cakes! (N)  
**Representations:** Curly Shepard; Tim Shepard; Shepard Family; Ponyboy Curtis; Curtis Family; Brothers; Gang Leader; Love Carefully Concealed; Summer Vacation; Recklessness; Socs; Out of Your Territory; Intimidation; Illegal Activity; Siblings Sharing a Bed; Verbal & Physical Abuse  
**Bonus Challenges:** Second Verse (Found Family, Nontraditional, Middle Name, Mother Hen, Spinning Plates, Unwanted Advice, For the Vine, Lovely Coconuts, Muck & Slime, Under the Bridge, Where Angels Fear); Chorus (Pear-Shaped, Odd Feathers, Machismo—Crying/Affectionate, Mouth of Babes, A Long Dog, Larger than Life, Head of Perseus, In the Trench, Sitting Hummingbird, Some Beach, Hot Stuff)  
**Tertiary Bonus Challenges:** SN (Rail, Ameliorate); O3 (Orator, Olivine); SHoE (Oblique); TY (Enfant)  
**List (Prompt): **Toys (Dominoes)  
**Winter Bingo Space Address:** C1 (Family)  
**Word Count:** 4045

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**A/N: This is my entry for the WA Flower Language Challenge. My assigned flower was the red primrose, which carries the meaning of "unpatronized merit." "Unpatronized" can mean either "not condescended to" or "not having many patrons, not well-recognized," and thus, the whole phrase could suggest either someone meriting the respect and recognition they receive or someone having merit that is not well-recognized. In my portrayal in this story, both of these meanings can be seen as applying to Tim Shepard, the first in his role as a leader and the second in his role as a brother.**

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_"Open rebuke is better than love carefully concealed." ~ Proverbs 27:5_

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Gravel in Your Gut and Spit in Your Eye

"I'm bored."

Tim quit sharpening his switchblade for a second and looked up at me. "What?"

"I'm bored," I repeated, scuffing my shoe and sending a stray piece of gravel skittering along the concrete. "There ain't nothin' to do."

He eyed me coolly. "Careful talkin' like that. Folks might think you was missin' bein' in school."

The rest of the gang guffawed, and I gave my brother a withering look. "Ain't _that_ I'm itchin' to do. C'mon, Tim, can't we go get some kicks? Rob a gas station or somethin'?"

"Nup." Tim went back to sharpening his knife. "I told you, Curly, we got to lay low for a couple of weeks. It was only two days ago Ronny got busted. We don't wanna do anything else to get the fuzz lookin' our way." The other boys all nodded in agreement; I always thought they were like a bunch of bobbleheads Tim could set going whenever he wanted. "'Sides, they're already on high alert with school just havin' got out and us hoods runnin' the streets all day 'stead of just in the evenings. We got to wait till they get tired of watchin' us so close."

"And till then we just sit around doin' nothin'?" I protested.

"You wanna go back to the reformatory? You talk about bored…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." A train whistle blew, and I shut up as the 3:15 thundered by only a few yards away. The tracks and the alleys around them are our territory, property of Mr. Timothy Shepard and Co., and as Tim's kid brother I'm sorta second-in-command, even if I'm also the youngest of our gang. It's something I'm proud of, most of the time. But whenever Tim gives the command to lay low, there ain't anything I or anyone else can say against him, so we were all laying around in the sun like a bunch of useless alley cats, smoking and playing cards or dominoes and letting the precious summer hours waste away. I stood there trying to count the cars on the freighter, just for something to do, but I lost track somewhere after thirty. It was too much like math for the first week of summer vacation anyways.

Tim started to say something else once the train got past, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. I'd caught sight of somebody coming this way on the other side of the tracks. He was still a long ways off, but I could tell who it was by the hair and the way that he walked. "Ponyboy!" I yelled, a grin breaking out on my face. "Hey, Ponyboy Curtis!" I started waving at him, and he saw me and waved back.

Tim looked up and scowled. "Curtis? What's he doin' down here?"

"Probably bored, too," I offered pointedly.

Tim flipped his blade closed and stood. "Yeah, well you two stay within hollerin' distance, ya hear? There's a lotta Socs wanderin' around our side of the tracks right now lookin' for trouble, and I ain't aimin' to explain to Darry Curtis why his kid brother got jumped on my watch."

The bobbleheads got going again, and I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, whatever." I was itching to go meet Pony halfway, but I had to let Tim get in his lecture first.

He came over and gave me a good cuff on the back of the head. "Watch yer mouth."

"Ow!" I yelped.

He ignored me and kept talking. "I'm serious, I don't want you goin' too far. And no playin' chicken, either. You kids wanna smoke, you keep the ends of your weeds off of each other's fingers."

"We will, all right? That was more'n a year ago."

"Yeah, and you've neither one got that much smarter in the between time. Just stay close and outta trouble, ya hear?"

"Yeah, I hear," I grumbled, glad to be dismissed, and took off across the tracks.

"Hey, Ponyboy!" I called again, and he called back, "Hey, Curly!" I tried to tackle him when we met up, but even though I'm taller than he is, he's faster, so I ended up on the ground while he got out of the way with one of those crazy backflips I'm always begging him to teach me. I rolled over, grabbed his heel, and yanked him to the dirt. On the ground, I had the advantage, and in a few seconds I had him pinned. "Holler uncle!"

"No!" He kept struggling, but I had him good, and anyway he was kind of laughing, though I was too, so maybe that made it even.

"All right, uncle," Pony grunted finally. "Get offa me, Curly."

I rolled off of him and collapsed next to him in the dirt, the both of us laughing our heads off. Finally, Pony sat up. "One of these days I'm gonna pin you. Soda says Darry used to be built like me, so he thinks someday I might get as big as him. Then I'll get you good."

"Keep dreamin', Curtis." I sat up, too. "Hey, whatcha doin' all the way down here?"

Pony shrugged. "Bored. Darry and Soda don't get off work till late, and Johnny's hangin' out with Dallas today. Didn't feel like taggin' along."

"Yeah, me, too. Ronny got thrown in the cooler couple days ago, and now Tim won't let us do anything fun till he thinks the fuzz have calmed down. He's awful uptight for a greaser, y'know?"

"By fun I'm assumin' you mean illegal?"

"'Course." I grinned. "Hey, you wanna go hunt up some action?"

Pony bugged his eyes at me. "You kiddin'? Darry'd kill me! He ain't hardly lettin' me hang out with Dally or Two-Bit these days for fear they'll get me in trouble."

"He givin' you that same junk about the fuzz bein' extra on alert with it bein' the start of summer?"

"Yeah, but he's jumpy right now anyway. Social services came by again last week."

"Oh. You think there's anything in it?"

"What? Social services?"

"No, dummy, the whole start of summer thing."

"I dunno," said Pony with a shrug. "Dally don't seem to be lettin' it worry him, but then, he never misses a chance to add to his rap sheet."

"Yeah, usually Tim don't either," I said, shaking my head. "But I guess he's jumpy, too. We got two guys in the cooler right now, and one just out on probation. I think he's worried we'll be in trouble in a rumble if we lose too many more."

"Well, you know you've always got us," said Pony, giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder.

I returned it. "Yeah, I know." I looked around. "Well, what _can_ we do, then?"

"You got a football? We could toss it around."

"Really? That the best you got?"

Pony shrugged again. "At least we can't get arrested for it."

I couldn't argue with that, so we got up and headed back toward the other side of the tracks. I could see Tim lazily eyeing the two of us at a distance from behind his shades.

"So why're you so scared of him, anyhow?" I asked Ponyboy as we walked.

He looked over at me, and I saw him trying to go back and figure out what I was talking about. Tim always says talking to me is like trying to watch two movies on different channels at the same time. Every time you flip back to the one you were watching before, you have to try and remember what was going on when you changed the channel and figure out what happened in between. I don't really get what he means; I always make perfect sense to me.

"Scared of… Dallas?" Pony tried at last.

I rolled my eyes. "Not him, Darry. You said the reason you couldn't do anything fun was because of him. What're you so scared of him for?"

He looked at me cockeyed. "Have you _seen_ my brother?"

"Aw, sure, but size don't mean nothin'," I scoffed. "Tim ain't half as big as Darry is, and he whales on me every chance he gets. And if you don't think he packs a punch, you just come over sometime when he's hacked off about something. You'll see real quick." I glanced over at Ponyboy. "I bet Darry ain't never even hit you, has he?"

Pony looked down. "Guess not," he mumbled.

"That's what I thought," I said, trying not to be jealous. Tim's all right, even if he does treat me like crap most of the time, but I'd kill to have either one of Pony's brothers. It ain't fair he gets to have Darry and Sodapop both. "So what's he do, yell at you?"

"And how. You oughta come over to _my_ house sometimes when I ain't done my homework. Then you'll see."

I was about to point out that Darry probably never cussed Pony out neither, which Tim does me pretty much on the daily, but we were almost back to the gang, and I wasn't in the mood to give him a demonstration. I told Tim we were headed to the house to get the football, and he narrowed his eyes at me and told us to keep to the alleys and come straight back. I waited until we'd turned a corner before sticking my tongue out in his direction.

Pony chuckled, then added in a more serious tone, "See? You're scared of your brother, too. You wouldn't've done that to his face."

"Yeah, 'cause he'd've conked me on the head hard enough to make me bite my tongue off." I peered around the corner, making sure the street was clear before we crossed. I might think Tim was full of crap about the fuzz, but I didn't want to run into any Socs. I motioned back to Pony, and we scurried across the street. "Maybe Soda's right about you, but I hope it don't hold true for me and Tim."

"What?" Pony pulled up just outside the shade of the next alley. "What're you talkin' about?"

I turned around and saw him standing there in the open. "Get in here!" I grabbed his arm and yanked him forward out of sight of the street. "C'mon, can't you use your head?"

He grumbled, "Why does everyone tell me that?"

"'Cause you never do," I answered. "What Soda said about you getting big like Darry since you're built like him."

"Huh?" He stared at me like I hadn't just explained exactly what I was talking about. "Oh. What about it?"

"Me, I'm built lean and wiry like Tim, but I hope I end up bigger than he is. Someday I'd like to be able to lick him."

"Yeah."

"Whaddaya mean, 'yeah'? You don't get to wanna lick Darry; he ain't never licked you!"

"I meant yeah for _you_. Seriously, Curly, why you got to make everything a contest over how bad—"

The roar of a big engine drowned him out. We were almost to the end of the alley, but the noise was coming from the street behind us. We whirled around and saw a hot red Corvair, real tuff, parked at the other end of it. There were three Socs piling out of it and another one at the wheel, laughing and revving up the engine to make sure we knew they were there. They were throwing their weight around, trying to scare us before they came after us.

It worked.

"Run!" I yelled, grabbing Ponyboy and pulling him away down the alley. I turned right at the corner, back towards the tracks, the football totally forgotten. My only thought was to get back to Tim and the gang before the Socs caught up to us. _Shoulda done like he said and stayed within hollerin' distance,_ I thought, but it was too late now.

Our feet thundered on the pavement, our breath coming in panicked gulps, the jeers and shouts of the Socs behind spurring us on. Ponyboy quickly pulled ahead of me—_dumb track star_—and I tried with all my might to force more speed out of my legs. I suddenly thought of a story I must've heard in school somewhere, about how if you and your friend are running from a bear, you don't have to outrun the bear, you just have to outrun your friend. I'd thought it was funny at the time, but that was because I'd been picturing myself as the friend who outran the other one. Not the friend who got outrun.

Ponyboy must've realized I'd fallen behind, because he looked back over his shoulder. I saw the terror in his eyes and thought bitterly, _What're you so scared of? You'll get away, it's me they're gonna get._ But then suddenly for some reason he slowed down and we were running side by side again. _What do you think you're you doin'?_ I wanted to scream at him, but I didn't have the breath.

We still had a ways to go to the railroad tracks when they caught us. There was no way they wouldn't have; they were all big guys, sophomores and juniors at least, and Pony and me were only thirteen and fourteen. Socs like to jump the younger greasers, the kids, because they figure we can't put up as much of a fight. They also like to make sure they outnumber us at least two to one so we don't have a prayer if we're not close enough for our gang to come rescue us. Socs ain't never heard the term "fair fight." They had us surrounded now, four on two, and they were making sure we knew it.

"Can't run now, greasers," said the one who'd been driving with a malicious grin. "Nowhere left to go."

"'C'mere, grease!" another one teased. "Let me help you wash all that grease outta your hair."

My heart was hammering in my chest, but I fixed them with a hard, cold stare like what Tim might have given. "Can't you fellas ever come up with some new insults? That one's gettin' kinda old, don't ya think?"

They all burst out laughing. I guess it don't do much to act tough when they've already seen you running for your life.

One of them flipped out a blade. "It's an oldie but goodie. I'll make you a deal: we'll stop talkin' about your hair when you start wearin' it decent. I can help with that if you want." He mimed sawing off a bit of his hair, then flipped the blade around to make a slicing motion across his throat. I gulped, and they all hooted again.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you."

Everybody stopped. We all turned to look down to the end of the alleyway, and there was Tim, arms folded across his chest, with the rest of the gang backing him up. His hard, cold eyes bored into the Socs like mine never could no matter how much I practiced in the mirror, and his lips were curled up around his cigarette in a mean snarl. I could have whooped for joy.

"Yeah, see," Tim said, striding forward real easy, "happens I like my kid brother's hair just the way it is. Kind of a chip off the old block, y'know?" He twirled a finger through the greasy black curls that look just like mine near the base of his neck. His voice was smooth, calm, dangerous. He was getting pretty close to the driver, who looked to be the leader, and the Soc shifted his weight around nervously.

"So let's say," Tim went on, "you fellas bug out, and we'll pretend this whole business never happened. Whaddaya say?" He took a big drag on his cigarette, then let out the smoke right into the leader's face. The Soc coughed and tried to make some smart comment, but suddenly Tim's blade was under his chin.

"Or else."

Those Socs disappeared so fast you could barely see them moving. I never seen anybody beat feet that quick.

I felt my knees suddenly go shaky. I didn't want to collapse in front of Tim, so I backed up as casually as I could to lean against the alley wall. He followed me, looking me up and down. "They didn't hurt you none, did they, Curly?"

"Nup," I answered. I didn't trust my voice much beyond that.

"Didn't I tell you to stay close? Didn't I tell you to be careful, you little—" He went on to call me every unprintable name under the sun, including Ponyboy in some of it once he figured out he was okay, too. There weren't any surprises as far as I was concerned—they'll have to invent some new cuss words if they wanna come up with a name Tim ain't called me a hundred times already—but I think Ponyboy was shocked by a few of them. _Guess he's gettin' his demonstration of the difference between Tim and Darry after all,_ I thought.

Finally Tim finished with us and we headed back to the tracks, the guys all fanned out with me and Ponyboy in the middle, I guess so we couldn't end up in any more trouble on the way back. Pony was sniffling quietly and trying to wipe away tears without anyone seeing him. I wasn't feeling so hot myself; I walked with my head down, my hands still kinda trembling. When we got back Tim sat us down on the ground, still in the middle with the rest of the gang stationed all around us like we was inside some kind of jail. He ordered a couple of the guys to go fetch a car to take Ponyboy home in, saying, "I'll be in enough trouble with Darry tomorrow as it is without sendin' the kid back all on his lonesome." Then he stretched out on the ground, pulled down his shades, and lit up a new cigarette. He didn't offer me or Pony one.

Pony folded up like a tent, his arms around his knees with his head down. I scooted closer and put an arm around him. "You okay, Pony?"

"Yeah," he said in a shaky voice. "You?"

"Yeah." I didn't say anything for a second. "Why'd you slow down?"

He lifted his head a little. "What?"

"You're way faster than me, you coulda got away. They'd probably have stopped once they caught me."

"Yeah, and then maybe killed you."

I looked him up and down pointedly. "You think you coulda done anything to stop 'em?"

He slugged me, a weak grin on his face. "I dunno, maybe." He sobered up then. "You don't leave a buddy behind. Ever. Not in our gang anyways. Even if you can't do anything to help him, you don't leave him behind."

I shook my head. "In our gang it's every man for himself. You stick together 'cause there's safety in numbers, but when push comes to shove, you get your own and get out. That's how the fuzz got Ronny; there was three of 'em there in that liquor store, but the other two left him behind."

Pony looked at me, and then at Tim stretched out on the ground a few feet away. "Bet Tim wouldn't've left you."

That time it was my turn to be confused. "Huh?"

"If you and Tim had been in that store. I bet he wouldn't have left you."

I looked over at Tim, too, and thought that over. "Yeah. Guess you're right."

Pony went home not too long after that, and Tim and I headed back to the house. We neither one said much of anything, but that ain't too unusual, especially after he's been yelling at me. I wasn't sure if he'd heard what me and Pony was saying; we'd been talking real quiet. I kind of wanted to ask him if Pony was right about him not leaving me behind like the other guys would. That just ain't the kind of question you can ask Tim, though.

We've had to share a bedroom and a bed ever since our sister Angela got old enough to declare she needed her own male-free space, and neither one of us likes the arrangement much. We've got the room and the bed divided perfectly in half, and we aren't supposed to cross into each other's space, though Tim sometimes does when he's trying to assert his dominance. Me, I never dare. I've even taught myself to sleep staying in one place, since any part of me Tim finds on his side of the bed is liable to get hurt. He even broke one of my fingers, once.

But that night was different. I was tired as anything, just about ready to drift off, so when Tim whispered, "Curly? You asleep?" I didn't answer. I tried to breathe real deep and even, hoping to fool him so he'd leave me alone. Instead, I found his arm suddenly laying across my chest. I tensed up reflexively, expecting some kind of violence, and the arm came back up a little. "Curly?"

I forced myself to relax. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. He stayed frozen for about a minute, arm hanging in midair above me. Then I guess he must have decided I was asleep, because his arm settled back down across my chest, and he scooted closer, laying his head right next to mine. _What's he doin'?_ I wondered nervously. Deep breaths. In, out.

"I'm glad you're okay, kiddo," he whispered in my ear, barely loud enough for me to hear. "Man, you had me scared to death."

I tried to focus on my breathing: in, out, in, out. His breath was hot against my ear.

"Curtis was right, you know. I wouldn't ever leave you behind. I ain't never gonna let anything happen to you, not if I can help it. I hope… I hope you know that."

He didn't say anything else, and I wondered how much longer I could keep pretending; I didn't want to think about what would happen if he figured out I was awake, now he'd just spilled his guts. Finally, he gave a long sigh and rolled over, back on his side of the bed, and soon his breathing was as soft and regular as I'd been faking mine.

Me, though, I was wide awake. Tim and me had never been affectionate, not even when I was a little kid, unless it was too far back for me to remember. We never gave hugs, we gave punches, and not usually playful ones either, especially as we got older and Tim got to be the leader of a gang of tough hoods where discipline had to be strict and swift and a kid brother made for a convenient punching bag. I guess I always knew on some level Tim cared about me, same as Darry cared about Pony; people don't yell at you so much if they don't give a crap about you. But I never thought much of it.

Now, though, I was wondering. I'd been awake this time, but how many times had Tim done that before when I was asleep? I rolled over and looked at him. His face was turned away from me, his black curls smashed out of shape by the pillow, which was covered in grease stains. His body was lean and wiry, exactly the same as mine. I knew there wasn't much hope of me getting bigger than him; we'd probably grow up exactly the same. I didn't much feel like I wanted to lick him at the moment anyway.

What I wanted to do was reach over and put my arm across him like he'd done me and tell him thanks for saving me. I wanted to say I did know he had my back, and I didn't want anything to ever happen to him, either. I wanted to tell him I wouldn't trade him for any other brother in the world, not even Darry or Sodapop Curtis. I wanted… I wanted to say I loved him.

But then, that'd mean putting not just a finger but my whole arm over on Tim's side of the bed, and I didn't want to push my luck.


End file.
